


Whiskey

by reigningqueenofwords



Series: You’re Not John [3]
Category: Supernatural, The Walking Dead
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 18:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19707160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reigningqueenofwords/pseuds/reigningqueenofwords





	Whiskey

The ride back to the motel sucked. Dean had made sure to lay one of the blankets down in the back for you. Partly so you wouldn’t bleed on the seats, and partly so you’d be comfortable. Him and Negan had grabbed the gear from camp, ignoring the tents and chairs. Sam sat in back with you, letting you lean on him. Every time Dean hit even the smallest bump, you bit your lip. There were tears streaming down your face, but you refused to cry out. 

Sam carried you into the motel room, Dean grabbed the first aid kit, and Negan simply followed, looking around. He saw no signs of walkers, or that there ever were any.

You were put on one of the beds, propped up slightly with a pillow. “Give me that fucking whiskey.” You groaned, knowing that this was going to suck. Sam handed it to you and you down a swig as Dean cut down the side of your shirt to get to your wounds. “How bad is it?”

Dean sighed. “Not good. You’ll live, but this won’t be fun.” He looked at you, and you knew he was sorry.

“Why don’t you bring her to a fucking _hospital_?” Negan snapped.

“And say _what_ , exactly? That I was attacked by something most people don’t know even fucking exist?” You shot back. “This isn’t the first time they’ve had to stitch me up.” You took another swig before handing it to Dean. “Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

Licking your lips, you sighed. “Distract me.”

Sam nodded and sat on the other bed so you could see him. “Remember when you were seventeen? You decided to sneak out, despite Dad telling you to ‘keep your ass in the motel room’?” You gave him a small smile, nodding. “You ended up getting arrested for beating the _shit_ out of some guy. When you told Dad it was because the guy wouldn’t leave you alone, he didn’t know whether to be pissed or proud.” He grinned.

Dean took that moment to pour some whiskey on your side. You gripped the bedding, fresh tears forming. “ _Fuck_!” You gasped. “Yeah, I remember that night. Fucker thought he could get away with coping a feel.” You took a deep breath as Dean patted around the cuts gently, cleaning it. “He ended up giving me fifty bucks for standing up for myself, but then I had to pay him the money he used to bail me out.”

“You ended up having to work the rest off because that fifty wasn’t enough.” Dean chuckled, his eyes never leaving your side.

Negan was leaning against the wall, simply watching how the three of you interacted.

“Oh, I know. My twenty-first birthday!” You forced a smile. “Dean decided to take me out and challenge me to a drinking game.”

Sam laughed. “You both seemed fine…and then you stood up. I didn’t even know Dean could still get drunk!”

You squeezed your eyes shut as Dean started stitching you up. They were pretty long gashes, so you knew you’d be out for a bit. “I vote we take a break from hunting for a bit.” You groaned. “Focus on finding John.” Your fingers gripped the bedding.

“I second that.” Sam nodded. “Then again, last time he went missing, we ended up hearing from him.”

“Yeah, well, that time we didn’t have a John look alike with us, did we?”

Dean had stayed quiet and focused on his work, knowing that if he got riled up this would hurt you worse. “Here.” He handed you the whiskey again. You took it without a word, and took a couple swigs, making a face before handing it back. “Sorry…” He said as he used it to clean your wound again.

“How often does this shit happen?” Negan asked, his eyes locked on your side.

Sam shrugged. “We get beat up now and then, but _usually_ it’s not this bad. Few stitches here, sometimes a gunshot.” It didn’t seem like a big deal to him. That was just life.

You couldn’t help but glance at Negan. “Then again, we _normally_ don’t have someone there to fuck us up. Why couldn’t you just _stay back_?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I’m the _leader_ of my men. It’s not my job to ‘stay back’.”

“We’re _not_ your fucking men. This isn’t some fucking zombie apocalypse. You could have fuckin’ gotten me _killed_ , you son of a bitch!”

Dean sighed. “Hold still. I know you’re pissed. You can attack him when you’re better. Promise.” He told you gently.

Closing your eyes, you focused on your breathing. “Sammy? Look for a house to rent. Somewhere a bit more secluded. It’d be cheaper than going motel to motel while I heal and we look for John.” The pain was starting to get to you, and soon, your breathing evened out.

“She’s out, Dean.” Sam told him quietly, brushing a piece of hair from your face. “I’ll go grab her some clean clothes.”

Negan held his hand out to stop him. “You’re not gonna strip her while she’s sleeping.”

Sam groaned, letting his head fall back for a minute. “ _Dude_ , I’ve known her forever now. It’s not the first time I’ve had to get her out of bloody clothes. It won’t be the last. I’ve seen her naked, she’s seen me naked. No big deal.”

“You two a thing?” He asked, looking between you and Sam.

“No. We’ve been sharing motel rooms since I turned eighteen. After awhile, modesty goes out the window. We _really_ don’t give a shit. Only time it stops is when the other brings someone home with them. Now, I’m going to get her some clean clothes.” He moved past Negan, rolling his eyes.

Once Dean was done, he stretched his back. Your side was stitched, cleaned, and bandaged. “You mind stepping outside while we get her changed?” Dean asked Negan, motioning towards the door. “I doubt she’d like a stranger seeing her like this.”

Without a word, Negan stormed out of the room. He took the opportunity to look around at everything. No zombies. No crumbling buildings. No blood splatter, save for yours. What the hell was going on?


End file.
